Therapy Sessions
by S. Cordell
Summary: Sort of angsty, but not just, you know, flat out angst. Blainofsky or Karofskerson, which ever you want to call it. I dunno. I like it, and I really hope you do, too.
1. Chapter 1

**I guess I can never actually finish a story before I start a new one… so here we go! Umm, I really like the idea of Karofskerson, sooo, here's Dave in his senior year! RIB owns all characters, except the following that are mine: Ms. Jones, Arizona Garcia and Scarlett Fiero. Happy reading :-)**

Dave walked in to his first class of senior year smiling wider that he had in the past two years. For once, he was actually happy. Blaine was transferring over to this school; the two boys had decided that it would work out in the end. Kurt didn't have a problem with it, and whenever Dave would be able to man up and tell people, Blaine and him would be _official_.

Of course, there was the whole _manning up _part. He was still unable to tell anybody other than Kurt, Santana and Blaine about the… gay thing. Azimio would be the worst, though. The past 3 years, both he and Z had tormented all the gay kids in the school- whether they were out (Kurt) or just _suspected_ of being gay (anybody who couldn't bench 120 or more). So the hard part would definitely have to be telling his homophobic best friend that he was, in fact, as gay as they come.

Anyway, Dave walked into that first hour AP Euro Lit class with a pocketful of sunshine. This continued when he saw that his teacher was Ms. Jones. Ms. Jones was legendarily the best English teacher in the building. Not only that, but she was the best _anything_ teacher in the building. She was committed to her students past and present. She was infamous for her classroom activities and decorations that rotated per season and holiday. Right now, the room was decorated in a classic first-day apple motif- clichéd, but effective. Not only was she a 'fun' and 'creative' teacher, but she was also the only black teacher at their school. Not really a big deal, because Lima wasn't necessarily racist, but it was different enough that all the new students were slightly in awe of her smooth cocoa skin and close-cropped hair.

The sign on the board said to sit wherever, so Dave found a seat in the back and waited to see who else would walk in. Sure, most of the people taking this class took AP American Lit last year, but you never knew with their school. There wasn't really a prereq to taking APEL, so anything could happen. Dave waved at a girl named Arizona who had been in his AP History of Americas class last year. She went over and sat by him.

"Hey, Dave!" she stretched her long legs out in front of her, casually trying to show off her new tan. "How was your summer?"

Dave thought about that question. It was something that everyone asked the first few days back, but how much could he answer? Sure, a simple 'Good, you?' would suffice, but most people would follow up with a 'What'd you do?' or something like that. And Dave had trouble with that one. He had hung out with Blaine mostly—watching musicals on the flat screen TV at Blaine's house. But could he really tell anyone that? Of course not.

"Pretty good, Ar. Boring, for the most part. We didn't do a whole lot." That was the truth. Dave and Blaine had sat on the couch, sweating from the intense heat, most of the summer months. Either they were watching musicals, or talking, or making out—for most people, this would have been uneventful. For Dave, it was phenomenal.

"We? Who's this allusive 'we'?" Arizona smirked, prodding Dave with one perfectly manicured finger. "Does somebody got a girlfriend?"

"Nope, still single!" he proclaimed loudly, taking a second to bask in the fact that three girls looked over, smiling to themselves. Sure, he was gay, but they didn't know that, and it was just as flattering to know that the girls wanted him. "Hows about you, 'Zona?"

"Oh, you know how it is. After Cinco de Mayo, nothing fun happens with my mama's side of the family—so I went to Mexico to visit my dad. Sleep all day, and fiesta all night. You shoulda been there Dave… cute guys for me, and _muy caliente_ girls to satisfy your every need!" Arizona glanced at the clock, and drummed her desk with her fingers. "It was great… oh God, is he really in this class?"

Dave glanced up to the door, and covered his mouth so as not to laugh. While Z was his best friend, even Dave would readily admit that the sports oriented boy wasn't the type to take an AP Lit class. Every student in that room could see through the transparentness that was Azimio wanting to win Arizona's heart. Dave knew that she already liked him, but neither Z nor Arizona actually knew that yet. To Dave, it was obvious… but Arizona refused to show it. Instead, she pretended to hate Azimio, constantly poking fun at him, and letting him tease her.

Azimio walked in loudly, letting the whole room- mostly Arizona- know that he had arrived. He strutted to the back of the room, sitting in front of the pretty Mexican girl, and faced front. Finally, the room filled and the bell rang.

Ms. Jones walked in with a bubble of a fish bowl, and a stack of white sheets. "Good morning students!" She cried with a surprising amount of gusto for so early in the morning. "I said… good _morning_ students!"

A few people near the front raised their hands slightly in some form of greeting, but this was not good enough for Ms. Jones. "I said good morning, class. What do you say when someone greets you and wishes you a good morning?" Still being greeted with silence save for a few groans, Ms. Jones rolled her eyes in a grand motion of annoyance. "Mr. Karofsky!" She exclaimed, a smile dawning on her face. "I met Dave at the Y this summer, and what a pleasure that was. Would you like to show the class what I expect from you all when I wish you a good morning?"

Blushing furiously, Dave cleared his throat. "Good morning, Ms. J. Oh, and uh, nice skirt." A few people turned to get a good look at Dave, and then, realizing that they either knew him from other AP classes or from the football field, turned back in their seats and mumbled good mornings to the smiling teacher.

"_Thank_ you, Dave!" Ms. Jones passed the sheets of white paper back, allowing time for the back row to get their copies before she spoke again. "This is a getting to know you sheet. If you would, please crumple it up and put it in the recycling. We won't be using papers like this to get to know each other. No, actually, we're doing a different sort of assignment. By tomorrow morning, I would like all of you to come to school with a Me-Box. No limits on size or shape, just put in 10 things that you think represent you. We'll be presenting tomorrow. Do _not_ flake off this assignment, or any others from me, or you'll be really hurting when grade reports come. Keep the boxes appropriate, but feel free to the boundaries a little. Be creative!"

Twenty-seven AP students pulled out their planners and pens, writing the first assignment of senior year down. The girl who was sitting behind him leaned over his shoulder. Dave could smell her citrusy perfume. It smelled delicious, and it reminded him of Blaine's shampoo.

"When did she say this was due?" She asked, sounding as if she had been asleep for these past 20 minutes of class.

"Um, tomorrow," Dave replied. He was distracted by the smell of limes and oranges enough to stutter a little. The girl sat back in her seat, then leaned forward again.

"I'm Scarlett, by the way," she whispered in his ear. She kept herself close for a second, trailing a finger down the slope of his neck as she leaned back again.

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. Every class seemed the same- getting to know you crap, class rules, sign this-check out that… the only difference was that they were all seniors. This was the first day of their last year. They ruled this school.

Dave didn't even see Kurt until 7th hour Excelling Arts. Kurt waved at him as he walked in, and Dave said hi, refusing to meet his eyes. After last year, things weren't scary anymore- just awkward. Especially since Dave had started hanging out with Blaine. It started while Kurt was at Nationals.

_It had started out innocently enough, just two guys hanging out at an under 18 sports 'bar', talking about football. Then, Blaine made sort of a move. He looked into my eyes, put a hand on my knee, and said 'It's okay to come out, you know.' He leaned in, like he wanted a kiss._

_I stood up. For the first time, I wasn't afraid of what I was feeling-instead, I was afraid of hurting Kurt. 'No, Blaine. I can't do- I can't… not something like this. I'm sorry."_

_I left, and we didn't see each other again for a long time. But about half way into June, Kurt and Blaine broke up. I wouldn't have even known if it weren't for the changed relationship statuses—the same statuses that Facebook threw into my face when they started dating, back when I liked Kurt. _

_I had to do some grocery shopping for my mother. It was when I made a quick turn down aisle 12 to get some snack cakes- Zebra Stripes, my favorite- when my cart smashed into Blaine's. 'Oh! Hey… how's… how are you doing since the… since you and Kurt… how are you?' I awkwardly asked. How do you talk to someone about their breakup?_

'_I'm doing well. Hey. Do you wanna come over for a bit? I'm not doing anything, and I have a pool!' I remember the way Blaine had smiled as he said it, as if the pool was some secret he was letting me in on. I went with him, never finishing the shopping. Mother had screamed at me for over an hour when I got home, but in the end, it was worth it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Yep. Two chapters in 24 hours, and actually DECENT lengths... Lucky you guys! That's super unusual for me, if you've read any of my other fics… Ha. All characters belong to RIB, minus Arizona, Scarlett, Ms. Jones, Jake Young, and Ms. Karofsky. :-) . Reviewreviewreview. **

"Hey. Do you wanna come over for a little while? My mom… wants to meet you. No, she doesn't know that we're… no, she thinks you're a really good friend. Yeah. No. Sorry?... So yeah? Okay. See you at 6, then? We're having chicken for dinner." Dave hung up the phone, smiling. This wouldn't be so hard. If his mother could just _meet_ Blaine, maybe she'd realize that gays weren't that bad, and he could come out to her. Coming out to his mother would be almost as hard as coming out to Azimio.

He walked down stairs, to where his mother was pulling out the chicken from the fridge. "Mom? Hey, Blaine said he was good to come over for dinner. He'll be here at 6. Does dinner at 7 work at all?"

He was always very careful when talking to her- you could never tell what sort of mood she'd be in. Sometimes, she was ecstatically happy—Dave remembered one weekend before dad left that she had taken Mikayla and him to Chicago on a whim—and other times she was sent into this dizzying rage, screaming, throwing dishes, telling Dave exactly what was his fault, namely, his dad's death and her divorce from Mikayla's dad (which made no sense, since Mikayla was born first).

Then, there were those occasional nights where she was sad. Those nights were the worst. She would put in her John Mayer CDs, sit on the kitchen floor, and cry.

_I was at football practice until late that night. Mikayla was away at college. Mother was making dinner for us. She put the casserole in the oven, and was overcome with the kind of crippiling sadness I can only imagine. It was a couple of hours before I pulled into the driveway._

_I knew something was wrong when I heard the John Mayer blasting before I even opened the door. The oven had _just_ caught fire, and Mother was sobbing about… well, nobody could ever really tell what she was sad about. There were the obvious things, her divorce from Mikayla's dad, or my dad's death. But then sometimes, she'd just go off on rants about her grades in high school, or how she would never become an artist, or even about how she couldn't cook. I remember having to put out that fire, and then putting Mother to bed before going upstairs myself, and crying about Kurt. When Jake got home at 11, I didn't tell him about what happened. He'd just try to make her go to a psychologist again._

She refused to go to any sort of doctor—medical or psychological. Her current husband tried to get her to go to a therapist several times, but she only got as far as the parking lot before she turned around. Her anxiety levels were too high to trust her mental stability with a complete stranger.

Ms. Karofsky looked up in surprise. "Oh! There you are Dave. Blaine… which one is he? The big black one?"

"No, mom. That's Azimio. Blaine's from another school, you've never met him." Dave reached over and started helping his mom prepare the chicken.

"Oh, yes. Azimio. I like that one. Blaine… the one you've been spending so much time with lately? Alright. Sounds good. Why don't you call up Arizona and go out with her tomorrow?"

Dave almost had to laugh at his mother's lack of subtly. He was pretty sure that she suspected he wasn't exactly straight, and she was constantly setting him up with various beautiful girls, mostly daughters of people she worked with. Every once in a while, he'd go out to a movie or somewhere with one of the girls—usually short, mousy, nerdy girls or butch chicks whose mothers were questioning their sexuality, too—and never see them again.

"Sure mom, I'll call her up after dinner, kay?" Dave popped the chicken into the oven, and pulled ingredients for salad from the fridge. "Blaine will be here in a few minutes, and I think we're going to go down to the park for an hour. We'll be back by 7, alright?"

Dave went out the front door, and sat on the porch to wait for Blaine. He was a little nervous to see him, since the last time they were together they were making out in Blaine's basement. When Blaine pulled up in his 1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass, Dave leaped to his feet. "Hey! How are you, man? Dinner's going to be ready by 7, so if you want to go to the park or something, we can do that…"

"Yeah! Hey. Park sounds great, how close is it? We could take the car, if you want?" Blaine was standing very close to Dave. Both of the boys' hearts were racing just from the proximity.

"I don't think we need it.. I mean, let's just walk. It's lovely out, so… Here, this way." Dave averted his eyes from Blaine's and started off down the driveway. The shorter boy hesitated before following, picking up on Dave's weird mood.

"Alright, that works." Blaine walked a few steps next to Dave, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "Hey, Dave? You doing okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Except for how there are so many things I want to be doing to you right now that I can't because I'm not 'out' yet, and I'd rather not get my ass beat." Dave looked at the sidewalk to avoid looking at Blaine and blushing. "So. Sure. I'm doing okay."

Blaine didn't quite know what to say. Smiling a little, he waiting until there was a square of sidewalk that was slightly raised up, and pretended to trip on it. Instinctively, Dave reached out with one hand and caught him before he 'fell'. Blaine grabbed onto the larger boy's arm and pulled himself in not-so-subtly. "Well. We should have taken the car, so you could do… whatever to me." Blaine's voice was husky; he wanted Dave to touch him like he did the week before school went back in.

Dave blushed red, and shook his head. "No, we couldn't—I mean, we could, but we shouldn't…"

"Oh just hush, Dave. I'm just teasing you… for now." Blaine winked, still not letting go of Dave's arm.

"Well… okay." Not really knowing how to reply to anything Blaine said, Dave just kept walking, slipping his hand into Blaine's. Trying to cover his shock at the bluntness involved in just _grabbing_ his hand like that, Blaine continued babbling along. Once he realized that he was actually holding hands with the smaller boy, Dave jumped away as if he was shocked by electricity. "I—uh… Azimio's older brother lives in this neighborhood… And.. I'm just not ready yet, Blaine. I'm sorry."


End file.
